Page 62

We go to Ravin’s estate, not far from the main square. The atmosphere is vastly different from the night of his soiree. The building is instantly more somber and serious now that its veranda is devoid of revelers and all its doors are closed.

Still, I can’t help but mutter under my breath, “You have any guests of honor this time, Prince?”

He lets out a barely audible chuckle, knowing exactly what I’m referring to. “Only you.”

I think I can believe him, and it puts me a bit at ease. Not that things in there will be easy for me, even without Ravin playing his games…But the last thing I want is more surprises.

Heavy doors creak open, and we’re greeted by staff dressed in silvers and dark grays.

King Oricalis strides ahead, purposeful but not hasty. He hands his cape to an attendant who whisks it away. Ravin and Leigh do the same. No one offers to take my coat. Which is fine. I think it’s colder in here than it was outside.

“Please have the kitchen prepare some light refreshments, and some tea for the king as well,” Leigh says to a servant in that restrained and steady way of hers.

The man nods and steps away. “Your grace, my love—” The two words are said almost identically, out of duty and nothing more, making me wonder just how deeply she cares for the prince.

Not that it’s my place to question his relationship—my own with Kaelis is a charade.

“I beg your leave so I may take Storm to his aviary.”

“Granted,” the king says. Ravin merely nods. With a respectful bow, Leigh strides toward the back of the house. King Oricalis then turns to the three cloaked figures that continue to follow us. “You both may take your leave as well.”

Two of the three Majors break away, starting for the staircase I remember fleeing up weeks ago.

Thoughts of Kaelis return unbidden, and I forcefully push them away.

The third Major walks alongside the king as we enter a parlor—Judgment, if I had to guess.

I wonder if that man sleeps in adjoining rooms to the king—in the same bed, even.

I try to get a sense of him, his age, his demeanor, but it’s impossible with the oversized cowl that covers half his face and shadows the rest.

A fireplace crackles warmly, warding off the autumn chill coming from the large windows overlooking the gardens. Plush armchairs with intricately carved wooden legs are arranged in a circle around a low tea table.

“Sit,” King Oricalis commands more than invites, as he eases himself into the largest armchair. It’s positioned in the center on the right-hand side of the room, offering a view of the street through the glass doors by the veranda. Both entries to the room are at his left, a wall at his back.

I hesitate for a moment, assessing my options in the seating arrangement, ultimately choosing the chair opposite the king.

It offers me a view of both doors to the interior of the house as well, though my back is to the veranda.

This leaves both seats next to the king open, and Prince Ravin, expectedly, takes the one at the king’s right hand.

The Major takes the one at the king’s left, his movements little more than a silent breeze.

Protocol is a language all its own, Twino told me once, and I can only hope that I’m able to speak it fluently enough.

That my selection has shown I’m ready to be an equal player—to face the king head-on.

But, simultaneously, to do so respectfully.

As we settle in, the second of the two doors opens and two servants enter.

They keep their heads bowed, but I’d recognize one anywhere.

Twino does a good job of hiding his limp.

There’s not a trace of magic on him, so as not to arouse suspicion.

I wonder what pain-killing tea or tincture Jura and Ren drafted for him to perform this role.

They place two trays on the center table—one with two teapots and cups, the other is laden with snacks.

The servant beside Twino carefully lays out the cups.

I notice that the liquid in the king’s glass seems to be a slightly different shade and is poured from a different teapot than the rest of us.

It could be as simple as a rare or exotic tea he has a taste for…

Or, there’s more to it I don’t know yet.

Then the servants step back, positioning themselves, heads bowed, along the wall, becoming more furniture than living beings.

I grip the arms of my chair—the room’s atmosphere is tightening like a coiled spring.

I know Kaelis planned to make himself scarce. “My father will never take out the cards if I’m around,” he’d said. Yet, a small part of me can’t help but wish he were here.

“I doubt there will be further interruptions.” The king motions with an open palm to the center of the table.

“Forgive me for earlier.” I reach into the pocket of my jacket and pull out the silk-wrapped card. “I was afraid the card would be blown away, damaged, or destroyed. My instinct to protect it took over.”

“These cards become much more than mere paper and ink when they are completed.” He doesn’t seem agitated, and I’m hopeful I’ve avoided his ire.

I set the card in the center of the table and unwrap it.

The cream parchment, illuminated with gold, is a stunning contrast with the black marble of the table.

The king must feel safe here indeed, because he doesn’t immediately lunge for it.

In fact, his silent stillness drags on for long enough that I’m afraid the card is somehow wrong.

Yet eventually the same smile from earlier creeps across his face.

“So, Clara Redwin, you have worked hard on my behalf, fought commendably today, and have given me this most precious gift. I suppose it would be good and proper, as a benevolent ruler, to impart a boon upon you to show the depth of my gratitude for your service.” King Oricalis holds out a hand, as though he already has the World itself in his palm.

“Tell me, what is it you desire? Name it, and if it is within my power, it will be yours.”

A chill sweeps through me, even though I’m still bundled in my coat and scarf.

It sends a shiver that whispers across my skin.

It’s dizzying, like I’ve had one too many sips of mulled wine.

Within his power… Quite literally anything is within his power.

But I doubt he’d truly give me whatever whim I asked for.

Nothing is ever that simple…or gifted that freely in Oricalis.

It takes all my energy and effort to keep my expression serene. I lean back as if I am giving the offer a great deal of thought.

“My king, what I have done with this card is my destiny. What I did today to protect you is what any of your loving subjects would do, especially as one who hopes to rebuild a clan someday.” The words are as bitter as bile in my mouth and just as comfortable.

But I say them with every scrap of grace I can muster and hope this pays off. “Serving you is its own reward.”

“Such humility.” His eyes gleam. “Though, surely, even the most pious and humble among us have basic needs. Have secret wants.”

Do I dare? Is it too bold to ask to see the cards outright? My heart is racing so loudly that he must surely hear.

“Then, perhaps…” I lower my eyes respectfully.

“If it is not too much trouble, could I perhaps see another card like this one? I had nothing to serve as an example while working on my own card and was worried it would not be up to your standards. But now that I know it is—now that I’ve seen its beauty—seeing others would be reward enough. ”

The seconds of silence that follow are excruciating.

Then the king moves. I slowly draw my eyes up, bracing myself.

The king lifts a hand and undoes the first five buttons of his shirt.

There, underneath, is some kind of card-carrying apparatus connected by four chains around his torso.

This was what Jura was trying to signal me about.

“Father—”

He lifts a hand to still Ravin’s objection. The way the king unlocks it is almost like he’s issuing a challenge. He’s showing me the mechanisms out in the open. Showing me that there is a special way the various gears must be twisted to get the front latch to release.

The king is so confident that his cards won’t be stolen—that they can’t be, that he’s letting me see everything.

One by one, he lays out the four cards in his possession at the four corners of mine: Death, the Hierophant, Judgment, and Temperance. Three robed Majors surrounded him today…I wonder if the fourth, Death, is back at court. I shudder to think of what that particular card is capable of.

But where the Death Major is isn’t my concern. I slide to the edge of my seat, looming over the cards. From the corner of my eye I see Twino shift, ever so slightly.

“May I?” I ask, holding out my hand.

The king motions with his palm. One by one, I lift the cards, turning them to the light.

Tilting them so Twino and his photographic memory can catch all the designs across their surface.

He’ll immediately make sketches while the drawings are fresh in his mind, and we’ll compare notes later. Then, I will begin making my forgeries.

Setting them down, I lean away and say a simple but sincere “Thank you.”

“No, Clara, thank you.” King Oricalis collects his cards—mine included.

Within the hour, I’m back in the square and lined up with the other initiates.

Students are gathered by house and surround us in a large half circle, general faculty behind them.

At the front is the royal family. Behind them are the three department heads, interspersed with the king of every academy house.